Chapter 12

12

KASSANDRA

A vessel…for Chaos?

My head spins, my heart races, and fear trails its icy, insidious fingers down my spine. I suddenly can’t stand. My legs threaten to buckle and give out from underneath me.

I don’t know who to look at—Aleksander, who lies on the ground with an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face, or Blaze, who looks one tick away from murdering everyone in the clearing with his bare hands and then eating their remains.

“Explain. Now,” I demand of Blaze, and the Fall Prince runs a hand down his haggard-looking face.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look tired before. Were those dark circles always underneath his eyes? Have his cheeks always been so pale and gaunt? Has his hair always appeared so disheveled? Why haven’t I noticed any of it earlier?

“The Mark of Chaos hasn’t been around for hundreds of years,” he admits gruffly, his voice a low murmur as if it physically pains him to speak those words out loud.

“And it hasn’t been relevant for maybe two hundred years,” Aleksander pipes up. He narrows his eyes at Blaze suspiciously. “So how do you know about it?”

Blaze ignores the elf’s question and keeps his gaze locked on me. The scruff on his jawline gives him a rugged, dangerous look that should intimidate or even frighten me. It somehow makes his piercing hazel eyes appear even more penetrating, a feat I didn’t think was possible.

Yet I don’t feel fear when I stare up at him.

My stomach flips over itself at the revelation, and I take an instinctive step closer, arching towards him, wanting his touch and comfort, wanting the relief only he can bring me.

He tentatively traces the mark on my bicep, and a full-body shudder reverberates through him.

“What do you know about it?” I sign, maintaining eye contact.

“I’m assuming the elf told you about how the Mark of Chaos was used in the war between Chaos and Order?” Blaze asks, and I blink at him in surprise.

He knows the legend of Chaos and Order?

Why didn’t I know about it?

At my nod, he continues in a voice drenched with resignation. “The Mark of Chaos was used on Chaos’s army. It was a magical bond between the god himself and his loyal followers. With the mark in place, he was able to…”

He trails off, as if struggling to find the right words, and Aleksander quickly takes over the explanation.

“He was able to inject some of his magic into the fae.” The elf peers up at the sky, his hands clasped on his taut stomach, a picture of nonchalance and innocence, almost as if he’s simply drifting off to sleep. “There were thousands and thousands of soldiers, and every one got a tiny bit of his power through the mark.”

“But with only one mark currently in existence…” Blaze gives me a pointed look, his expression grave, his eyes frosted over like a sword encased in ice.

“Are you saying that all of that power is going straight into me?” I sign, incredulous.

My heart pounds so erratically and rapidly I’m surprised it doesn’t break free of my rib cage and splatter at our feet.

“It’s a possibility,” Blaze admits gruffly.

“Does that mean that the creature who gave me this mark was Chaos? I thought Aleksander said that Chaos and Order were put to sleep.” I desperately scrub at the raised, red bump, wanting nothing more than to wash it away.

It feels dirty on my skin. Toxic.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be clean again.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Blaze demands, and after only a moment of hesitation, I do, starting at the beginning with the attack on Gaia’s temple and ending with Aleksander beheading Patric.

I don’t gloss over any details or leave anything out. Terror spirals through me like a lightning bolt, and I feel dizzy from the intensity of it.

The more I talk, the more pissed Blaze appears, until I’m pretty sure he’s considering destroying this entire village and everyone in it.

Once I finish the story, I ask, “Patric wasn’t referring to Chaos, was he? Is Chaos the one waiting for me?”

I rest a hand against my chest as if that motion will somehow keep my heart firmly where it belongs—within the confines of my rib cage.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Aleksander answers. Faye must’ve translated my question for him. “Chaos and Order are asleep, and they have been for centuries.”

“Then how did I get this mark on my arm?” I scrub at it again, hard enough for the skin around it to turn red.

Blaze captures my hand between both of his and forces me to stop. “We’ll get it off of you, little beast. I swear it.”

“There’s a shaman in Amorite who specializes in this sort of thing,” Aleksander explains. “Which is why we need to get there. Now.”

Blaze’s jaw clenches, but to my surprise, he doesn’t refute Aleksander’s claim. Instead, he nods once, the barest dip of his chin. “The bastard’s right. I’ve heard about the Bone King.”

“The Bone King?” Licks of trepidation skirt their way up my back. Why does that sound so ominous and terrifying?

“He’s a shaman in Amorite. He’s not an elf or even a fae.” Aleksander attempts to shrug, but it looks strange with him still lying on his back. “No one knows what he is.”

“But rumor has it, he’s been around for hundreds of years and was one of the magicals who helped remove the Marks of Chaos the first time around,” Blaze adds. He turns towards Aleksander, and his eyes harden. “Do you know where to find him?”

“Noooo,” the elf drawls sarcastically. “I plan to just walk aimlessly around for who the fuck knows how long and hope Kassandra doesn’t go on a murderous rampage in the meantime.”

“Murderous rampage?” I sign, but with Blaze so focused on Aleksander, he misses it.

Is that what will happen to me if I don’t get this mark removed?

I glance at the raised skin once more and try to ignore the nausea that swirls in my stomach. Acid scorches my throat as something occurs to me—a painful revelation that leaves me gasping for air.

I may not be in shackles. I may not be in a prison. I may not be in a palace…but I’m still a prisoner.

And my jailer?

This mark on my arm.